


Charming, Magical... Alright

by Alliswell



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, OOC!Katniss, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21783814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliswell/pseuds/Alliswell
Summary: Prompt 1 by Grace-d for the Season of Hope gift exchange 2019:Katniss and/ or Peeta are coming into their previously unrealized magic, and one helps the other out.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 17
Kudos: 40
Collections: The Hunger Games 2019 Season of Hope Holiday Gift Exchange





	Charming, Magical... Alright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grace_d](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grace_d/gifts).



> Merry Christmas Everyone!
> 
> I do not own The Hunger Games. 
> 
> Here’s another story for my Secret Santa, Grace_d. Your prompts warmed me up from the inside out. I hope I did them justice. 
> 
> I wanted this to be beta read before posting, but time got away from me and almost missed my deadline. So, I apologize before ha d for any mistakes you may see. 
> 
> Enjoy!

My name is Katniss Everdeen, I’m seventeen years old and I’m busy as heck today. 

I live with my momma and sister in the Seam— poorest neighborhood in little town Panem, North Carolina— at the skirts of the Great Smoky Mountains. 

Today is New Year’s Eve, one of the most profitable days of _my_ year. I’m done with my trading for the day and there’s still light out, so I figured I should run an errand that’s been niggling at me for days and put it to rest. 

It’s been a mild winter so far, yet my nose, cheeks and the top of my ears are wind swept and probably badly frostbitten from being out and about since dawn, after an overnight semi heavy snowfall.

In the woods, the soft powder wasn’t bad at all, but in town the snow got walked on so much it got packed down tightly, then melted in places and re-froze over, building slippery ice in places on the sidewalks you only realize are there when your feet run from under you. It’s a big annoyance mostly, but who cares?! I have places to be and no sodden snowy path is gonna keep me from my destination!

I turn a corner trying to purge myself from the To-Do List running through my mind, when I hear a deep, very male, embarrassingly familiar— although I’ve never exchanged more than a passing greeting with its owner— voice, coming from a little yonder.

“Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Light as a feather, stiff as a board,”

_What in the Sam Hill?!_

I scowl.

“Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Light as a feather, stiff as a board,”

I peek around the nearest building, which happens to be the practically deserted Marvel Senior’s Marvelous Storage Unit. If I had my wits about myself I wouldn’t even look, ‘cause during the winter months, this place gets more popular with the teen population looking for a hidden corner to smooch in privacy, than the old Slag Heap by the condemned coal mine shafts.

I’m not prepared for what my eyeballs see next.

Golden boy Peeta Mellark, youngest son of the town baker, and this year’s champion wrestler of Panem High, is at least ten feet high, floating in the air; hands balled up, eyes tightly shut, and jaw clenched. He’s the only soul out here, which is a small relief to be honest.

“Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Light as a feather, stiff as a bo—,”

“Peeta Mellark, is that you up there? What in tarnation are you doing, boy?!” I call at the top of my lungs unable to hide my agitation.

His eyes open the moment he hears me calling, and for a second everything is still. Then, as if in slow motion, the solidly built boy starts flapping his limbs frantically, yelping like a little girl as his heavy, muscular body plummets towards the ground.

Now, Panem is virtually hidden from the outsiders that flock the mountains every year with their smartphones and handy cameras. Our tiny town is not even Google Maps worthy. We like it that way! Being left alone and ignored, there ain’t anything better for us.

Enough people think Appalachian folks are a quirky lot as it is, what with the history of the Blue People and the crazy thick accents that’s a dead giveaway of our _hillbilly_ roots and all. But what really sets our little slice of heaven on earth apart, what makes Panem truly special, is the ability some of us have to control nature, matter and events around us on a supernatural level.

Some call it magic. I call it a catastrophe waiting to happen. Just let some of them touristy types get wind of our ‘capabilities’, and life as we know it in quiet Panem will be over forever. But what do I know? I’m a pessimistic cynic, or so my baby sister has called me jokingly on occasion. But, isn’t there always a kernel of truth in jokes?

Anyhow, is a good thing I’m not the only one who fears outsiders. We could never trust anyone to go out of town to college and stuff if we knew our secret could be betrayed easily. 

Nobody wants our town to get overrun by strangers wanting to see the _freaks_ put on a show; or worse, get called _monsters_ , accused of witchcraft and who knows what other crazy stuff, just to end up rounded up and studied like Guinea Pigs…

But that’s maize from another bushel.

The issue at hand is less complicated, not less frightening. 

As Peeta careens down to earth, I act on impulse, sticking my hand out in a ‘stop’ motion.

It does the trick!

Peeta’s cradling his face in the crook of his arms, but his elbows and the tip of his toes are only two inches from the ground when I release my hold on him. I drop him on his stomach with a soft thud.

It takes another minute for us to catch our breaths.

Peeta springs up from the ground brushing dirt off his clothes nonchalantly. He then turns his handsome face towards me with a big ol’ smile that doesn’t reach his sky blue eyes.

“Hi, Katniss!” He drawls casually, like he didn’t just almost faceplant on the gravel behind Marvel Senior’s building. “How’s it going?”

I keep my scowl in place and add a glare for good measure. “Peachy,” I deadpan, quickly followed by a blunt, “Now, why in the world were you floating up there chanting that silly ditty?” 

“Um… practicing?” He poses sheepishly, rubbing a hand at his nape. A rosy blush takes over his fair cheeks.

“What for? How to break your neck?” It appears I’m unable to hold my tongue around him. 

His face turns crimson and his response is a litany of stuttered whispers I can barely hear.

“Come again?” I prompt slowly.

He sighs. “I just… um, you see… the thing is, I wasn’t able to, you know, _do_ … _the stuff_. Before...” He says meaningfully. He gives me another smile, genuine this time, “But I’m giving a go now, as you can see,” 

I give him a unconvinced glance.

His explanation is nowhere near satisfactory, but I’m pretty sure I can make a few informed guesses to fill in the gaps.

Still, It doesn’t quite add up if memory serves me right.

“I remember you lifting a whole crate full of sacks of flour once. You where bringing it from the grocer’s to y’all’s bakery. Or was that your evil twin we ain’t supposed to know nothin’ ‘bout?” I jest.

His eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “You remember that?” He asks with evident surprise. It’s my turn to blush and look away bashfully. He says, “Yeah. That was me. _Experimenting._ I’ve never been good at it though.”

“Well, one really can’t miss a whole crate of anything crossing town square suspended in the air, can we now?” I try rolling my eyes. “Since there was no flour accident reported on the Panem Gazette, I think your experiment worked just fine.”

Peeta chuckles nervously, his hand’s back at his nape. “I guess,” He clears his throat. “I mean, I’m nothing like you though.”

My eyes cut to him sharply, not really knowing if he means it as an insult or not. Everybody knows I’m no prodigy when it comes to magic. My baby sister, Prim, was able to conjure up flowers as big as her head by the age of four, and Momma can heal almost any ailment with a blink of her clear blue eyes, and her herbal concoctions are sure to put one right after the first sallow; but I’m alright with most stuff, from ensnaring animals to stopping time for a few seconds at a time. Nothing complicated, really, but alright all the same.

But Peeta’s face is downcast, like he’s embarrassed. “You’re truly something when it comes to controlling your powers. I mean, the year you brought in all those mockingjays to sing carols during music assembly... not one of ‘em left droppings! And you sang like an angel too!” 

I’m taken aback. The caroling mockingjays happened in like third grade! “You have a very good memory,” I muse.

Peeta shakes his head. “I remember most things about you...” the words hang in the air, shy and vulnerable; but then he gives me that fake smile from earlier, “Your magic is amazing. Mine on the other hand... I can levitate stuff. And myself. But that’s as far as it goes, and I have to psych myself up to do even that.”

I know I’m making a face. I can’t help it though. 

Levitation is as basic as counting numbers or memorizing the alphabet song. Most people master it early on, when their magic manifests; Not that we rely on magic all the time anyway.

And when I say magic, I don’t mean it like some fantastic Harry Potter adventure you can read about in a book, where one necessitates reciting incantations in old Latin and flicking a wand to get things done. In Panem, magic is more practical. We just need our wits and a good mind for visualizing what we want. There’s just something to be said about being able to call the TV remote or a snack to you while vegging on the couch.

But since our kind of magic mostly follows our imagination and ideas, I can’t fathom Peeta not being good at it, when he’s one of the most creative and talented people I know.

The thought makes my cheeks burn. I can barely restrain myself from scrubbing my face in aggravation, hoping my soft, olive complexion masks my blush. _What is the matter with me today?!_

I’m so flustered my mind has no time to stop my mouth. “Psych yourself? Like with that ‘light as a feather’ nonsense?You should figure something else, really. For a minute there I thought I was about to find you in the middle of a pajama party, applying pink polish to your toenails or something.”

Only when the last word has crossed my lips, I realize just how rude I’m being. I try to backtrack, apologize, but Peeta is chuckling and waving me off.

“Alright, I’ll try something else, just to please you. I might even try ‘Wingardium Leviosa’—“ 

I’m shaking my head and hands quickly, to stop him talking... now! “Ugh! _Please_ don’t! Prim and her little girlfriends play ‘witches and wizards’ and do all the spell thingys... it just _so_... no!” I breathe deeply and let my shoulders droop.

Peeta is laughing silently, head bowed and away from me, “I gotta tell ya, Miss Katniss, I never pegged you for a snob. Why you kinda remind me of Ms.Trinket right now.”

 _Ugh! Not her! **Never** her._ Effie Trinket is our school’s prissy Assistant Principal. The woman is a nightmare on garish magenta heels.

Of course, instead of defending myself from his comparison, I go with an even worse topic.

”So, why are you having issues with your powers, you reckon? You’re an awesome painter.” I’m immediately mortified by my boldness.

Peeta’s eyes are so wide I’m afraid they’ll pop out of his skull any second.

“I mean, Mr. Cinna has displayed your drawings and sketches in every art show since the eight grade. Obviously if our art teacher thinks your work is good, chances are you’re not lacking in the creativity department.” I huff. _Get ahold of yourself woman!_

“You’re pretty observant, huh?” Peeta says chuckling under his breath. He shakes his head before I can say anything and smiles sadly at me. “I think is got somethin’ to do with my mother.” He looks at his boots for a spell and then finds my face again. “She used to say that powers like those were too big for a creature as useless as me. And then, I sort of convinced myself she was right. That being able to do magic was too big for my britches or somethin’.”

Of course he goes and shoves his hands into his jeans pockets, my stupid eyes follow the motion until I make myself look at his face again.

Peeta looks so miserable. My heart goes out to him, really, but the thought that the witch made him feel so insecure of his own gift, angers me to no end.

I snort, unamused. “Well, no disrespect to your mother, but just ‘cause she had no supernatural talent, doesn’t mean her offspring were going to be as unmagical as she was.” My eyes go round and big, realizing I can’t keep my feet from sticking in my big mouth.

Peeta’s momma passed away a few months ago; the kids in town gave her the ironic nickname ‘The Witch’, despite being something of a looker and having no powers at all. The woman was mean, loud and a known bully. It was no secret her children suffered the brunt of her nasty temper, yet nobody ever did Jack to help them out. Not even the baker. 

Come to think of it, the grownups of this town suck when it comes to intervene on behalf of a young'un’s best interest.

Any who, once I overheard my daddy— The Lord rest his soul— tell my momma, he reckoned the baker’s wife was frustrated ‘cause she grew up a magical dud in a house full of geniuses. I doubt I was meant to hear the conversation seeing how it was whispered and all; Daddy certainly would’ve been chagrined if he knew I heard him say something impolite about someone else, but I already disliked the woman. Then, I witnessed her slapping Peeta unjustly and realized she was the one giving him and his two brothers all those bruises they couldn’t quite hide, and my dislike turned to loathing.

Luckily, Peeta finds my mortifying lack of filter hilarious. He’s laughing so hard, a tear is slowly peeking in the corner of his right eye… not that I’m looking or anything.

“You’re so right, Katniss!” Peeta tells me wiping his eyes with the tip of his fingers. “You could say the woman didn’t have a magical bone in her body, but she really was adept at disappearing acts.” He laughs even harder. I just stare at him puzzled, not getting the joke until he elaborates. “You see, all my mother had to do was come down the stairs for my brothers and I to skedaddle out of sight!”

I nod and force a smile. I find Peeta’s anecdote mostly sad, but I manage to put a pin on my mouth for once and say nothing. I remind myself, _Silence is gold and all that Jazz._

I take a big breath. I’m not usually this generous, but Peeta helped me once, when I truly needed it. And he was rewarded with one of his momma’s shiners for his troubles; so really, I’m just repaying a debt here.

We were eleven, Peeta and I. My daddy had just passed away in a mine cave in. The incident brought to light all kinds of problems with the coal mines that eventually led the operation to shutdown. None of it help my daddy none; he was gone. My momma sank into a paralyzing depression, and whatever moneys the insurance paid off for the accident ran out like water in a colander.

I did my best to keep us going; but with Momma out of commission, our pantry became bare fast. Seven-year-old Prim was all skin, bones, and chapped lips, I have no recollection of what I looked like those days, but it couldn’t be any better than Primrose. I was desperate enough to go through people’s trash cans looking for something edible, when cherubic, sweet Peeta ran to me and tossed two loaves of bread, his eyes pleaded with me to take them right before his mother caught up with him…

I shake my head from the memory of what came next. The words ‘Seam Rat’ and ‘stupid creature’ rattle in my head to this day. I start fiddling with the end of the braid I keep my long, dark hair to soothe myself. 

I figure is my turn to return the favor. Offer my assistance graciously, mediocre as it may be.

“Alright… um, so… you can’t just hide on and alleyway to practice.” I say pensive, tapping my fingertip to my chin. “I mean, learning to use your abilities won’t be as hard as training for a wrestling championship, but it will leave you mentally drained. I think we ought to find some other place to work, if we are to help you master your magic.“ I wrinkle my nose at the building behind us. “I don’t know ‘bout you, but I’ve heard stories of how Marvel The Third uses this place, and it is disgusting! I don’t really wanna catch any of his cooties.”

I’m expecting Peeta to burst out laughing, but he’s just staring at me mutely, like a deer in crosshairs.

“You wanna help me? Really?!” He finally sputters. There’s sheer surprise in Peeta’s face, yet his voice betrays vulnerability. “I couldn’t impose. I’m a disaster and you probably have better things to do with your time.”

I do have immediate plans, but who says I can’t help him at some later time?

“Nonsense! Why we can start right after I get back from my errand.” I decide. Which reminds me of the reason I came all this way instead of heading home, to sit on my threadbare couch and watch my sister play with her mangy cat, Buttercup.

I pull my cell phone out of my coat pocket and peek at the time. Still two hours before closing time, but it’s winter. The sun will go down in about an hour if I’m lucky, and temperatures are bound to plummet. I really don’t wanna be out in the cold, since I left my beanie and gloves at home.

“Actually,” I say, “I need to run an important errand, but I guess we can meet tomorrow. Are you on Facebook? I can probably message you there...” I look up from my phone at him distractedly, but I’m taken aback by the look on his face.

He’s utterly speechless. Cheeks and ears tomato red. His sky blue eyes are crinkled at the corners from the goofy, lopsided smile on his lips. 

“Is that okay?” I ask feeling my face warming up.

I could kick myself. I’m pretty sure it all came out flirty.

I didn’t even know I could _do_ flirty!

Is this dadgum crush I’ve been harboring for the baker’s boy ever since he tossed me those loaves. This whole conversation, the pesky thing has been a mighty inconvenience, mostly.

Peeta’s goofy expression sobers up slowly, as if waking from a particularly sweet dream.

He shakes his head, making his wavy blonde hair wipe from side to side. “Yeah. Facebook…” he smiles sheepishly and then his eyes widen, “Actually… we should exchange phone numbers. Just in case, you know. Like… if the internet connection gets wonky.” He grimaces before jamming two fingers between his neck and the collar of his hoodie, pulling on the material uncomfortably.

I laugh nervously for some reason. Is just silly. It occurs to me, if the internet goes ‘wonky’, chances are the cell phone signal will be wonky as well. I ain’t calling him on it, though, on the off chance he might be flirting too.

“Sure. Here!” I thrust my phone into his hand, obviously startling him, ‘cause he scrambles with the thing like it’s a hot potato his trying not to drop.

He finally secures it in his grasp and programs his number in for me.

“There you go.” He hands back my second hand device with a broad smile.

“Cool!” I smirk seeing his name pops up blue in my screen, which means he’s got and iPhone too and our texting will be free. I type ‘ _Hello!_ ’ and press send. “Now you have mine,” I say when his phone pings with my text.

“Great!”

“Yup!”

We stand there like a pair of morons staring at each other, sporting twin grins.

“Okay. Yeah. So… I need to get going before it gets too cold, but I’ll text you so we can make plans to meet tomorrow. To practice. Magic.” _Ugh! Shut up already, Katniss!_

“Yeah! Sure!” He says shifting from foot to foot. “So, may I walk you to wherever you’re going?” He asks bashfully.

“Oh… If you want to. I’m just heading to Hawthorne’s.” I tell him turning sideways, clearly intent on get going.

Hawthorne’s is the only sporting goods store in town. And by ‘sporting goods store’, I mean a hole-in-the-wall Mom and Pops shop that sells live and fake bait, ammo for bb-guns and hunting rifles, chewing gum, coke products and the best handmade arrows a gal like me could ever want. They mostly serve locals, and grudgingly, the occasional lost tourist.

Peeta falls into step with me, his face blank from expression. “Hawthorne’s, huh? Wasn’t them your cousins?”

“Not really. Our families are very close, though.” I say, wondering if I’m imagining the darkening of his mood? “Gale, the oldest, used to be my hunting partner before he left for college.”

College. Just the thought of it sets my teeth grinding and has my palms sweating cold. I have a little over a year to figure out what I want to do about it; it doesn’t stop me from worrying myself sick.

“I was just heading there to get me a hunting permit.” I tell him to distract myself.

“Really? My daddy ain’t no hunter, but… don’t you have to be eighteen to actually need a permit?” Peeta frowns.

 _Well, color me impressed! The boy knows his laws._ I guess is to be expected, given where we live. Still, I’m impressed.

After Daddy passed and Peeta fed me for the first time in days, I needed a moment of clarity, to figure out my next course of action. So I went to the only place the memory of my father wasn’t marred with crippling grief, but full of happy memories. The woods at the foot of the mountain was that happy heaven. Daddy’s favorite place.

But as it was with me, a hungry bear strayed from its hunting grounds and bumped into me. I was scared beyond my wits, but then the most marvelous thing happened: I screamed at the angry animal to leave me alone, and it did. The bear fell on all fours, turned around and ambled away in the opposite direction from me.

I realized I could command animals, just like my daddy before me, and it was like the gates finally opened up for me. A host of buried memories surfaced. Things Daddy had taught me long ago: shooting arrows with a bow, fishing in the lake, skinning a rabbit, gathering berries, katniss tubers and other greens we could eat; it was like hearing his soft, sweet voice in my mind, the way it all came back to me in a flash of lighting.

I started hunting and trading my kills as a ways to support my family; and one day, while Prim brushed Momma’s hair sweetly, with her belly full of food we spoon fed her, our mother had a lucid enough moment. She showed me her family’s heirloom book about medicinal herbs, and pointed out the plants she needed to help herself come out of her funk. It was a game changer!

I had been using the book already... the section Daddy added about edible plants had been my guide during those hollow months.

 _If Peeta only knew what his gift of bread meant to us... to me..._

“Yeah. But I ain’t eleven anymore.” I shrug before my mouth can run from me without permission again. “Pretending I’m selling roadkill to people when the game has clearly been stuck full of arrows ain’t cute no more.” Plus practically living in a National Park, poaching ain’t particularly tolerated. I have to keep up with all my permits if I don’t wanna have any run ins with the law, which is where Hawthorne’s comes into play. 

“Also, using my short height to my advantage is out of the question, now that my face betrays my age.” I explain turning into Main Street.

“Makes sense. Partly.” Peeta muses. “Is best to keep on the up and up, being so close to the Smokies and all, but, what’s that about your face betraying your age? I think you’re gorg— um… age… appropriate?” He rubs his nape again. His poor face is so pink, I wonder if he’s getting frostbitten too?.

Although, I’m starting to think the nape rubbing is some kind of nervous tick of his.

“Right.” I say wryly.

“No, for real! I mean, you are right about not foolin’ anyone about your game being roadkill. My daddy gushes about the squirrels he buys from you. Always points out how you get them critters right through the eye. Every time. I’m telling you, the man is completely taken with your accuracy, and we know it’s pure talent, no magic tricks!”

Peeta’s been speaking with wide arches of his hands and arms, betraying his excitement. 

Honestly, he's giving me an ego boost, but also making it feel like thousand butterflies are fluttering in my stomach. I don’t know if I should laugh it off or try to change the subject altogether.

But then he looks at me, eyes boring into mine unabashedly, and licks his lips in a way that has my entire body tingling in anticipation.

“You’re so pretty...” the words hang in the air, unsure where to go, and we both stared at each other with saucer size eyes for a second. “Erm… _fresh faced_ , pretty fresh faced!” He kinda shouts. 

We start chuckling weakly at the same time. Obviously I’m not the only one with a faulty filter today... and... _Yay! He thinks I’m pretty!_

Peeta clears his throat, trying to explain himself better. “I don’t see how your age can be any obstacle for your hunting and trading. Everybody knows you here.”

I huff. “Well… that pest Llewellyn Ludwig, Cato’s baby brother, just called me _old lady_. The little weasel asked if I wasn’t too old to be in school. Then laughed in my face when I told him I was a year younger than his brother. He said I didn’t look it.”

“And you believed him? You going by what a snotty-nosed ten year old said to get a rise outta you?” Peeta’s tone is a mixture of disbelief and indignation, which makes him completely endearing to me.

“No! Yes. I don’t know.” I defend, “Anyway, I figured, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, you know.”

“I guess, but you still shouldn’t put stock on what Llewellyn Ludwig says. He gets his cues from Cato! Not to mention your birthday isn’t for another five months.” Peeta says, then his eyes pop, catching himself. “I mean... I get it. Organizing oneself is always the best policy.” He finishes shoving his hands into his pockets and staring at his boots.

I’m surprised he knows my birthday is exactly five months away! Maybe I should be creeped out, but somehow I can’t bring myself to feel so. After all, I’ve kept close track of Peeta myself. I guess if someone invests in your well-being— like he did when we were kids—, they’re bound to pay attention to some details. I can’t stop myself from thinking my crush isn’t as one sided as I originally thought. 

I’m scowling again, deep in my machinations; I’m so distracted I miss the chunk of dirty ice covering the sidewalk, which is a shame, since I’ve donde such a great job all day at avoiding the frozen over patches. 

“Woah!” I exclaim wobbling on shaky legs before losing my footing completely and slipping down.

I shut my eyes tightly and brace for the pain, hoping the ice is not too cold and wet on my clothes and bare hands when I inevitability land on my romp.

But... nothing happens.

Stupidly, with my eyes still close and my braid accidentally wrapped around my neck like a scarf, I try to touch the ground below my bottom, but all I find is air.

I crack one eye open to find I’m suspended in the air.

I look up at Peeta. He seems startled, but both his hands are splayed forward— same way I had mine earlier when I stopped him from eating gravel— His sky blue eyes are wide and his eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline.

“Are you Okay?” He stammers.

“Yeah.” I chuckle. “Good catch there, Tiger!” I joke.

He seems out of sorts for whatever reason, and then starts babbling.

“I saw you falling, and I couldn’t get to you in time, so I just sort of stepped forward and tried to grab you anyways and then you weren’t falling anymore.”

“I know!” I beam up at him. “Peeta, you caught me! With magic! But I do need to stand up.” I say the last part slowly.

He blinks at me, uncomprehending, so I explain.

“You still have me hovering like a half deflated Mylar balloon. Is okay to just drop me. It’s only a couple of inches to the ground.”

Peeta frowns. “Don’t be silly. I won’t let you fall. The ground is gross. Here!” He flicks one of his hands, while turning over the other one to take mine.

It’s funny how we contrast: his pale skin against my olive one— just a shade above suntanned—, his large hand against my tiny one, his warmth against my chilly fingers.

In an instant, I’m gently lifted about a foot from the sidewalk, feet pointing the right direction downwards, before I’m placed back on them daintily.

 _An absolute artist!_ I think to myself. _And he still doubts himself?_

“Look at you!” I can't help but smile. “You did it, Peeta! You controlled your powers!”

Peeta shakes his head shyly. “Nah. I just couldn’t bare the thought of you getting hurt.”

“Hmmm. I know the feeling.” I say before biting down my tongue.

But he’s grinning. “I guess you and I are good at that,” he offers. “Protecting each other.”

I smile to my feet. “I guess so.”

Peeta tsks, and I look up at him. He’s staring ahead, at the frozen pathway in font of us.

“Well, that won’t do.” He says and bats a hand to the side, swiping over snow and ice and whatever other debris is there, for at least the next twenty feet.

“Okay, now you’re just showing off!” I quip smiling, “Do you really need me to help you master your magic, or was this all a ruse to get my phone number?”

Peeta’s head wipes towards me, his eyes so wide they gotta hurt. “No! I really don’t know what I’m doing. I need all the help I can get, really... plus I would never use such a dirty trick to get anything from anyone, let alone you,” He sounds so discomfited, I reach a hand to squeeze his arm to soothe him down.

“Hey, I’m just teasing you, dude. It’s okay.”

Peeta takes a big breath. His eyes turn sheepish, apologetic. “I’m not gonna lie, being around you… just motivates me to try harder. But getting your phone number… that’s just the most unexpected, wonderful surprise. Like a second Christmas has come, really.”

I watch with slight admiration the way Peeta’s hair shines in the waning sunlight. The color as warm as a dandelion I once saw sprouting from a crack in a slab of concrete, many years ago.

“You know what I think?” I say flicking my wrist.

A small, green shoot weaves its way upwards from the grout of the freshly cleaned sidewalk. A little green bud raises up, from which dozens of tiny yellow petals unfold cheerfully, around the small flower-head.

In my misplaced shame at being so hungry and desperate all those years ago after Daddy died, I let my eyes fall to the ground when Peeta gave the bread instead of thanking him for his life changing gift.

It was shameful, but I would’ve missed it, the timid, yellow bloom. An overlooked and often dismissed weed, fighting it's way to life through a crack in the broken concrete.

The sight filled me with hope!

I knew then and there, Momma, Primrose and I were going to be okay somehow despite being so poor and alone. Spring was near, and I would figure out a way to feed us all.

The rest is history. 

I bend over, now, to pluck up the tiny bloom and rise the on tiptoes to place the delicate stem behind Peeta’s ear.

I smile at my handiwork ignoring his deer in crosshairs expression.

A name I hadn't called him in a coon’s age comes to mind. _The Boy with the Bread._ The one who gave me _hope._

I want to tell him. I want to explain to him why I think he’s charming. Magical. So I open my mouth and tell him...

“I think you’re alright, Peeta Mellark. I think you’re _Alright_!”

**Author's Note:**

> ** _Disclaimer: Grace_d, I started writing the third Prompt, but missed the cut off to submit, which means I’ll have to wait until this things are revealed to post it under my name. I loved writing for you, and I hope you have a wonderful Christmas!_ **
> 
> So, the Katniss in this story kept turning up more cheerful and well adjusted than canon and even my own writing. After trying to tone her down and rewriting stuff, I just decided to let her be OOC. I mean, ‘it’s the season, right?!? 
> 
> Peeta is also slightly OOC but not enough in my opinion. 
> 
> Smoky Mountains: rise on the border between the USA states of Tennessee and North Carolina. The range forms part of of the Appalachian mountains, which we know from THG canon, houses District 12, Home to Katniss, Peeta, Haymitch, Gale and a bunch other characters. I usually put D12 in North Carolina because that’s where they filmed the first movie, and it’s just a very plausible place for it to be. The Great Smoky Mountains National Park is possibly the most visited national park in the US. The mountains are breathtaking and foggy. SC did us a favor writing about it, I wishI could’ve attended Toastcon last year. The place looked amazing!
> 
> Katniss mentions the **Blue People of Appalachia** , which are an honest to God real life family that lived in Tennessee in the late 1800’s to mid 1900’s. The Fugate family— to be more specific — suffered a genetic condition called methemoglobinemia, which boils down to “too much unbalanced iron in the blood,” which gives people a blue tinge to their skin. The condition manifested heavily, because at the time the pool of available matches for marriage was reduce to a few families and the gene kept passing down, until the carriers expanded their horizons and started marrying outside their clans. It’s a interesting piece of Appalachian history. 
> 
> Wingardum Leviosa: spell for levitation (float in air) first mentioned in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s (Philosopher's) Stone by JK Rowling. 
> 
> Hunting Permits: vary from state to state. You can usually apply for one at sporting goods stores or at a local parks and recreation office depending on governmental stipulations. In my state children under a certain age are not required a permit, adults do and they have to pay some fee to acquire it, same goes to fishing licenses. The assumption is that minors won’t go hunting/fishing on their own, so they’re should always be a permit carrying person in the group. Hunting is usually prohibited in National Parks. You can only hunt certain animal by season/weapon. 
> 
> Not everybody approves of hunting. Not everyone can stomach it either. In my family we are more into catch-and-release fishing... it’s relaxing and nobody dies. 
> 
> I think that’s about the most important points in the story. 
> 
> I hope I did alright with this story, trying to blend in magic with Everlark. My mind has gone fifty different directions when I saw the prompt, but at the end I decided to go with this fluffy story. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! And thank you for reading!


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